


Love in Dedication

by sphinxvictorian



Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinxvictorian/pseuds/sphinxvictorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Antonio really met Sebastian and what happened during the mysterious three months of nursing him back to health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in Dedication

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganmuffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganmuffle/gifts).



Sebastian was not the name that Antonio had first come to know him by. Nor had their bond begun by the fire in the Croatian cave where they now sheltered, following their ship wrecking off the coast of neighboring Illyria. 

When Sebastian had roused himself from his unconscious state, after Antonio had saved him from the jaws of the sea and brought them both to this cave, he had given Antonio a startled look of recognition.

“'Tis well, lad, 'tis well. I have saved you and you may be at peace. Roderigo, I think your name is. Nay calm yourself, I was a sailor upon your ship. But we knew each other better once, a few years ago, in Venice.”

He laid a hand on the younger man’s forehead, who then fell back to a fitful sleep. Antonio had watched faithfully for days after that, listening to his cries of “Viola! No, she is lost!” and feeding him broth from the fish stew that he kept on the simmer over the fire.

Antonio watched him tossing and turning now. Soon thoughts came of that wild night in Venice, with a passionate young student from Padua University, full of learning and too much wine, draping an arm about Antonio’s shoulder and telling him in all seriousness that his name was Roderigo, with the emphasis laid on the “Rod”.

The scene laid itself before him as he drowsed by the side of his companion.

“Indeed, fair sailor, that is my name! Rod-erigo! You must believe me.” A brown curl fell over Roderigo’s forehead as he leaned forward and breathed sweet wine into Antonio’s face.

“I believe you, young one, I do. But what would you have me do with that belief?”

“Why, keep it here, within your excellent hearty bosom, sailor mine!” Roderigo thumped his free hand against Antonio’s chest, and then left it there, the warmth of it seeping through Antonio’s thin wool doublet.

“Were I yours, sweet Roderigo, I should know what I might do with such a possessor.”

Roderigo’s hazel eyes blinked owlishly for a moment, and then he grinned mischievously and leaned his face so close that their lips almost touched. Then he swung away, laughing, and grabbed Antonio’s hand, pulling him down an alleyway that led to a side canal. At the other end, it was darker, more secluded, and no gondolas were in sight on the small canal.

Of a sudden, Antonio was pressed against the wall and the young Roderigo was in his arms, wine-flavored mouth pressing against Antonio’s, tongue teasing his lips apart until they surrendered whole-heartedly to the passionate onslaught. He wanted nothing more than to have the young man there, on the spot, but something told him, if he could just get him to his bed, the lad might stay there all night. Antonio had been at sea with a very unfriendly lot this last voyage and he sorely needed the feel of another warm and very friendly body next to his, if only for one night.  
So, with a supreme effort of will, he gently disengaged the young man’s roving hands and held him off for a moment.

“Dear boy, might I ask if we could repair to my lodging? It is very much warmer and much more comfortable for sport than a cold alleyway. It is not far, and I have a whole leathern bottle of brandywine there.”

He held out the hope that it was as much for himself as the thought of more liquor that Roderigo agreed. So he led the way to the somewhat disreputable but relatively clean lodging house he’d found and they settled in for the night.

And such a night! Roderigo was a voracious but somewhat inexperienced lover, and Antonio took great care and pleasure in showing the young man the delights of masculine love. The dawn came too soon and, waking from a heavy sleep, Antonio found the bed beside him empty. A thump and a muttered curse from the corner of the spartan room revealed young Roderigo, struggling to clothe himself as quickly as possible.

“Whither away so soon, young master? The day is but newly-born. Will you not stay and breakfast with me?”

The youth started and looked up, doublet in hand. His expression gave Antonio his answer.

“Never mind, young one. I’ll not keep you. And you’ve no fear of my tongue, as I’m off to sea again on the next ship. I wish you well.”

Antonio laid down again, a weight on his heart that he could not readily explain. He’d had other nights of sport such as this one, but for some reason he was unable to fathom, he did not want to see it end. But the lust of young men is fleeting, he told himself, and I must needs let him fly. This was an aberration for him, not a habit, so I must not make it worse for him.

Antonio was indeed off on the next tide, bound for Constantinople and other Mediterranean ports on a merchant vessel. He did not see Venice again for three years. During that time, he’d hired on to a crew which turned out to be privateering against the fleet of Illyria, and during one of the battles, the current Duke’s nephew lost a leg, and nearly died of his wound. Antonio had not given the wounding blow, but he had been identified by one of the Illyrian double-agents as the culprit, so he was captured. He escaped, but knew he could never return.

Then he found himself on a merchant ship bound again from Venice for Constantinople, this time bearing, besides its cargo of oil and wine, a young man and his twin sister, their names unknown and their behavior somewhat secretive and mysterious. The girl had no duenna, though she was dressed richly, and they had little baggage apparently, according to Luigi, the cabin boy. They kept themselves to their cabin for the first afternoon and evening, and then as Antonio was taking his first watch the next dawn, the young man emerged from the cabin and Antonio’s breath caught. It was his Roderigo! His beautiful youth of three years ago.

He longed to call out but found he could not, so he turned to the ship’s rail as Roderigo passed him. Thus he spent most of the next day or two, finding ways to not be seen by the young man during his times on deck. The third time he went skulking through the galley, the cook threatened to have him strung up by the yard arm, if he didn’t make himself scarce.

Then the storm blew up and the ship wrecked and thus he found himself caring for the feverish young man, who was stirring now. Antonio shook himself fully awake and offered the young man a sip of water. He felt Roderigo’s forehead and was relieved to feel it cooler, though still warmer than it should be. He looked about the windswept cave. Their supply of wood was getting low; he needed to find them a safer haven.

“Roderigo, can you walk a little way, do you think?”

“Yes, I think so. I am feeling stronger.”

“Stay here a little, I think I saw an old cabin along the strand, and perhaps it is not being used.”

Roderigo nodded, weakly, and lay back down.

After giving the youth a few bites of the last of the fish stew, Antonio set out down the beach, keeping to the shadows of the rocks thrown by the late afternoon sun. He had been correct; there was indeed a cabin, an old fisherman’s hut. It had a few holes, but those were easily patched with a few bits of driftwood from the beach. There was a rough stone hearth and a couple of low pallets, and best of all, some fishing nets and spears.  
They could easily survive here for as long as it took Roderigo to get his strength back.

He went back and helped Roderigo to the cabin and there they stayed.

The first few days as Roderigo recovered his health, Antonio treasured the youth’s need of him. The tender care he required was not something Antonio was used to giving, but he found it easier than he’d thought.

But soon Roderigo grew restive. His health returned and his mind cleared, so that one day he sat up from his bed and cried out, “Viola!!”  
It had taken Antonio throwing himself on top of the youth, to get him not to fly out of the cabin and run down the beach to search for her.  
He calmed him as best he could, until Roderigo subsided into weeping into his rough pillow. Antonio held him, realizing that while the boy was back in physical health; his grief would take more nursing than before. But Antonio did not care, because the nascent love that had begun in a spartan lodging house in Venice had bloomed again in his breast, and he would not leave his beautiful boy ever again. He swore it to the Virgin Mary, under his breath.

After a week or two during which Roderigo refused to get up from his pallet, Antonio was finally able to rouse him and then the youth took to wandering the beach. Antonio followed him discreetly, watching as he got closer and closer to the border of Illyria, where Antonio knew he could not follow him.

A month or so later, Antonio awoke at dawn, ready to go out and catch a little breakfast, when he noticed that Roderigo’s pallet was empty. Not unusual these days, he thought, and looked around the cabin. That’s when he realized that half of the dried fish was gone and the flat bread, as well as the old bit of cloth that had been on the table. The cloak that Antonio had mended for Roderigo was gone.

His heart thudding in his chest, Antonio ran outside and looked up and down the beach. He spotted in the dim dawn the distant figure trudging determinedly towards Illyria.

Antonio sighed deeply, threw on his own cloak and set out after him.

He knew they had crossed the Illyrian border before he caught up with Roderigo.

“Here, lad, where are you off to?”

“Oh, dear Antonio, I can no longer stay idle. I must find a way to get on in the world. This seems a goodly country.”

“Will you not stay with me in the cabin? I will find us a way to get back to Venice, if that is what you desire –“

The lad started at this, and began walking again, his pace a bit quicker  
.  
“Will you stay no longer?” pleaded Antonio. “Nor will you not that I go with you?”

The lad was adamant however. He would continue on. Antonio knew he had to stay with him, enemy of Illyria though Antonio was. He pleaded his love for the boy. This stopped the lad’s steps and he turned back.

He then told Antonio who he really was and who his father and sister were. Now Antonio knew the reason for the secrecy aboard the ship. He and his sadly deceased twin were Sebastian and Viola, the children of the late Sebastian of Messaline, who had died suddenly. They were the children of his second marriage and, though he’d left them all of his money, his older son, Alfonso, had contested the terms of the will and attempted to marry Viola off to one of his old cronies.

No wonder they’d been on the run. But now Roder -- Sebastian was taking his leave again, and he refused to let Antonio come with him. Not to be shaken from his silent promise, Antonio followed him nonetheless toward the capital.  
He’d eventually caught up with Sebastian and gotten him to trust him and allow him to give him what money he had so that the boy would not be destitute in a strange town. Then, having stupidly gotten himself discovered and captured, he had begged his purse from the boy, who strangely did not know him.

Antonio’s head still hurt a little at the confusing circumstances that followed: Viola was not dead, but masquerading as a boy in Duke Orsino’s service. She loved the Duke, who loved the Countess Olivia, who loved the boy she pretended to be. Then the Countess Olivia, beholding his Sebastian, mistook him for his sister – his mind reeled at the memory of Sebastian in her arms. All was revealed and a happy ending was there for all. The Duke married Viola and Olivia married Sebastian.

It was then that Antonio knew he’d either have to lose Sebastian or manage somehow to stay his friend, so as to be near him. Thus he resolved that he could be strong and hoped that he would be allowed to stay in Illyria.

There he was in luck. As he was about to be led off to the Castle dungeon, the Duke stayed his soldiers and pardoned him there and then. Antonio did not even need to plead his case. Apparently, young Viola had done it for him.

She now stepped up to him, still in her manly attire, and said, “Dear Antonio, how sorry I am that I did not know the debt I truly owed you when we met just now in the orchard.”

“Not at all, lady. You were not to know, how could you?”

“Nevertheless, sir, allow me to pay that debt now. Ask me anything that you wish, and I and my soon-to-be husband will gladly fulfill it, if it be in our power.”

Antonio looked over to where Sebastian stood, arms wound round the waist of the lovely countess. Just then, Sebastian looked up at him, and Antonio knew what he must ask for.

“If it please you, your Grace, might I have a ship?”

“A ship?” the Duke exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “I shall have my naval yard build you the finest ship you could desire and you shall be the captain of it and it shall be the jewel of my naval fleet. That will go some way to paying me back for the damage you may have caused in your piratical days.” He winked at Antonio, who gave him a waggish grin back.

“'Tis well, my lord. I shall be honored to captain any ship you might give me.”

“Consider it done.”

Later, right before the double wedding, Sebastian found Antonio, scuffing his new boots in the formal garden of the castle. “Well, dear friend,” he said, “you have landed on your feet. Are you pleased?”

Antonio looked at him, his heart almost too full to speak. Finally, he found the words. “Indeed, I am, dear boy. You have been fortunate as well, and that pleases me more than my own good luck.”

Sebastian’s eyes sought the ground and he plucked a leaf from a nearby hedge, twisting it nervously in his hands. “Antonio – I –“

“Nay, lad, do not. We know what has passed between us. It is in our hearts and locked away there forever. I shall never speak of it, for to do so would sully a fine memory.”

Sebastian reached out and took Antonio’s hand and placed it over his heart. “Nor shall I.”

They stood thus for a few seconds more and then they stood away from each other and shook hands warmly. The wedding was starting soon.

Two months later, Antonio stares out at the sea from the deck of the Viola and sighs contentedly. The salt spray tangs the air and bedizens his wool cloak. He sways easily with the movement of the galleon and has no need to grab at ropes or spars to keep his feet.

Around him his men bustle to and fro, with the effortlessness of many years at sea, getting this new jewel in the Illyrian naval crown under way. The humor of the situation is not lost on Antonio: how a man such as he, but two months ago the enemy of Illyria, now commands her newest and most glorious vessel is a rich joke, to be sure. Not that he hadn’t paid a price for it, a price that his heart had been loath to pay.


End file.
